ASHEVILLE, N.C. — I began writing this piece while sitting in my driveway, jotting down notes on my phone as it charged in my car. It had been five days since our county declared our beautiful, quirky city a disaster zone due to Hurricane Helene’s impact.

Initially, many of us lacked cell service, making it impossible to learn about the safety of loved ones, locate drinking water or ice necessary for insulin and oxygen tanks, or determine if escape was possible or if we were trapped by fallen trees and washed-out roads.

Leaving was frightening, but staying was equally terrifying.

Facing uncertainty and fear in the aftermath of Hurricane Helene

In those initial days, the situation felt almost manageable if you were on higher ground. We realized we were without power or water, and the cell networks were completely down. Yet, we convinced ourselves it would only last a day or so, right?

As we exchanged stories and iPhone images with strangers waiting for hours to buy necessities like water and canned goods, the grim reality of our situation started to set in.

We began to recount which friends and family we hadn’t heard from, considering whether they lived on the first or second floors and their proximity to the rivers. We worried about the sturdiness of the bridges on our routes to check on them. We tried calling and texting, holding on to hope, but realized our beloved city would never look the same again.

I count myself extremely fortunate. My home sustained manageable damage, and my loved ones remain safe. Our power, water, and cell services will eventually be restored. Tragically, countless others will not see their lives, homes, and livelihoods restored.

Such devastation isn’t expected in the mountains of North Carolina

What many outside our mountainous region might not realize is that this kind of disaster is typically unforeseen here. Yes, certain areas face flooding—some severely. However, the intensity and speed of this water surge were unprecedented, creating conditions that we only envisioned in nightmares.

The victims of Hurricane Helene were not reckless individuals who brought this upon themselves. They were ordinary people caught off guard, just as we all were.

This lack of preparation extended even to our emergency systems. It took six days before the county announced a food and water distribution plan, and seven days passed before state or federal aid arrived.

Despite the delays, before the floodwaters even receded, our neighbors began doing welfare checks, ringing doorbells to ensure everyone was okay. A local queer-friendly bookstore organized mutual aid initiatives, informing residents of upcoming relief efforts.

A ramen restaurant just a few blocks away cooked all their remaining food and gave it away for free for several hours. A nearby bar was transformed into a makeshift medic station, staffed by neighbors who offered supplies, including the last Band-Aids from their cabinets.

People even placed signs in the windows of closed businesses to share information about routes that remained open and provided tips on how to adjust iPhone settings to enhance signal reception. The generosity of our community has been overwhelming.

Survival stories from Swannanoa Valley to Marshall

During the past week, we’ve heard heart-wrenching tales of couples escaping through balconies in the early dawn, awakened by the sounds of water rising at their neighbors’ doors. Witnesses described watching entire homes float away like toy houses lost in a current, all while floodwaters spared houses just a few feet away.

Towns have been obliterated, and neighborhoods erased. We’ve heard reports of individuals swept away in the swift waters coursing through their once-peaceful subdivisions in Swannanoa Valley.

A man clung to a tree in Marshall for hours, crying as helpless onlookers could do nothing but watch. One friend’s daughter was rescued from a rooftop by a boat after she had confirmed with her landlord just a day prior that she wasn’t In a floodplain, she decided it was best to spend the night.

As a journalist, it is hard for me to accept the lack of news coverage during times of dire need. Yet, I am aware that this is how most individuals experience natural disasters – not fixated on the news while leaders attempt to portray themselves as heroes, but rather as people navigating through a dark and difficult situation, relying on inadequate systems that they support.

Let’s honor the heroes and learn from our failures

I hope every government leader who was fortunate enough to avoid this disaster will reconsider their strategies – all of them. We are just starting to grasp the systems and plans that might have let us down during this crisis. However, it is clear that those most affected as the waters recede will be those who were already overlooked when things were normal.

On the other side of this tragedy, let’s remember the heroes who put their lives at risk to rescue those who woke up to chaos:

• Individuals who ventured out in boats through raging waters or left their own damaged homes to assist neighbors in rebuilding.
• People who drove long distances to save animals from shelters that were in danger of flooding.
• The Sam’s Club employees who generously gave away cases of water for free.
• Restaurant staff who immediately shifted to other kitchens to feed anyone in need, putting aside their own losses.
• Those who traveled from states away, driving through the night to deliver water and supplies to anyone willing to accept.
• People who bravely rescued a groundhog clinging to a submerged fence.
• A woman nearby who collected books from Little Free Libraries to protect them from the impending flood.
• And, of course, the dedicated local journalists enduring a harrowing week to deliver vital news to the community, even before many could see the unfolding events, holding those in power accountable long after national media moves on.

I lack the perfect words – I never will – to fully express the magnitude of devastation and the small sorrows tied to all the lost little things that shape a city’s character.

I hope what we lost serves as a lesson to protect others from similar disasters or at least reminds us of the pressing need to act on climate change before it’s too late.

If you can, donate. Look out for your neighbors. And vote with the understanding that it could easily be your town facing such a crisis next. If we don’t take action, it eventually will be.